Unto the Breach
by Sakura Taichou
Summary: When the past lives again, do you relive it as it was or do you really Live?


Standard Disclaimer: No own The Hobbit, just playing in their universe.

I warn you now, this is likely going to be the slowest to be updated and I might be prone to time skips (snicker). Time...lol

Chapter One

Pitiless, Honest, Fair

"What was that Frodo, I didn't quite catch it." Bilbo said as he shifted in his seat, looking into the mist that covered the ocean as far as the eye could see. "So much for a lovely day spent watching the ocean, can't see anything past all the blasted fog!" Leaning over and grasping his walking stick a little tighter he tried to see if he could see the water, "thick as pea soup," he commented idly as he failed to make out the lapping waves, "Frodo? What was it you were saying?"

No response came from his dear nephew and he wondered if the boy had drifted off into a nap, Bilbo himself knowing just how that felt, _thank you old age_. If he weren't constantly forgetting where he'd left this-or-that, he would be forever dropping off into sleep like he'd been afraid he would when he was a young hobbit, seeing his elders doing the same at the drop of a hat. He grumbled about the unpredictability of consciousness as the body withered around you while he turned in his seat on a small bench to look at the lad, only to be surprised to find himself alone on the deck of the ship. Goodness but he hadn't heard any of them go below deck. He wondered at their leaving him alone like that, but he reminded himself that he was an adult and didn't need anyone to tell him everything that was happening around him. He was more than one hundred and thirty years old, he could look after himself for a while. Satisfied with that thought, he looked to the rear of the ship where someone would usually be steering but right now saw only the lonely wheel holding steady on its own. He had a moment to puzzle over whether someone should be steering this boat before recalling that elven ships sailed to the Undying Lands under a higher power's influence, meaning no one actually had to do anything other than sit and enjoy the ride.

That didn't stop him from dithering for a bit though, since hobbits drowned so easily it was an understandable quirk to worry about his safety when a sadly unhealthy number of his acquaintances perished in that fashion. But after a little bit he made himself relax since he was too old to hold on to his fears for long. It's not like the blasted thing was rocking anyway, another bizarre quirk of elven made ships was how smooth they sailed, cutting through the water like a hot knife through butter. He leaned back in his seat and sighed.

"I would not have thought this is where my life would go." Bilbo murmured to himself as he listened to the water splash gently out of his sight. "Certainly not where my parents expected me to be, that's for sure," he chuckled to himself, "oldest hobbit in Shire Reckoning, elf friend, and on a boat to a land only spoken of in stories. Truly I have outstripped my parents expectations." His old and lined hands rubbed one across the other thoughtfully, taking in how some of the stiffness was fading away. At some point, between entering the docks and setting off, he had started to feel like the cost of time was gently wearing off. His cane was more for habit than necessity now to his continual surprise. Bilbo supposed he shouldn't still be so taken off guard by this though, he'd seen it in Frodo's face when he'd gotten on the boat after all, the shadows fading from the boy's face and replaced with the warm glow of health, like the harsh blow to his spirit had simply evaporated like water in the sun. He'd seen how Frodo had smiled the way he had before that whole blasted business with the Ring ever happened.

The One Ring. He sighed deeply, brow crinkling in guilt.

"My dear boy." Bilbo blinked away tears, wishing he'd never brought the Ring into the Shire. Wishing he'd never found it. His burden had brought nothing but suffering to his beloved nephew and he spent nearly everyday cursing himself for not seeing it for what it was when it had come into his possession. He should never have taken it out of the goblin caves. But, and Bilbo's gut twisted, he knew he would never have been able to save the dwarfs from Thranduil's dungeon if he hadn't had the blasted thing. They would have loitered in the elf king's cells indefinitely for he could never have entered the palace as the hobbit he had been back then. And the Spiders. He shuddered; how odd was it that he was glad they had been captured by Thranduil's people because it meant they had lived through Ungoliat's web spinners, that he had been able to protect them then. With that Ring. He hated that he'd ever found the vile thing necessary, that he'd ever been so weak he'd _had_ to rely on it.

Shaking away that old anger, his thoughts turned, as they always did then, to the Battle of Five Armies. Time had not lessened the intensity of sheer _pain_ that lanced through him as he thought of the ones he had lost in that blood bath. The memories still swam in his mind, clearer than some of even his most recent experiences, the men and elves and dwarfs that died fighting against the forces of Bolg. The searing flash of brilliant red coating armor and matting hair on people he hadn't known but never wanted dead, and swinging his own sword blindly in the hopes of preserving his life and maybe saving the lives of his companions. Companions, he'd lost in the crush of battle and only saw again after the fighting was done. Most of them, he corrected bleakly. Bilbo thought of the three descendents of Durin that perished that awful day and he couldn't fight back the tears that threatened to escape and he didn't want to. His breathing hitched as the memories assaulted him.

"My friends" he moaned into his hand, saline lines smearing under his fingers, "my friends!"

No magic ring could have helped him save them.

"If only I had known" he wheezed through the grief, wiping ineffectually at his tear tracks, blue eyes looking out over the fog in fruitless search of ghosts, "if only I had known, I would have acted differently; something, anything, I would have done anything to save you if I'd known!"

Bilbo rose from the bench, suddenly restless, and moved closer to the side of the vessel where the fog swirled just shy of encroaching over the railing. World weary eyes peered down into the white, and he cared not for the droplets that fell into the swirling mists to vanish without a noise, glad Frodo couldn't see him right now. He would have to pull himself together before going below deck, after he allowed himself to have a little release. This was a sorrow that he had carried for eighty five years and he had never revealed to anyone the depth of feeling he had for so short a period of his life where he made some of the unlikeliest friendships that changed him so completely. He may have walked away from that adventure with his life, but he hadn't walked away from it whole. No; he had left a part of himself there and he'd never gotten it back.

"I wish they could have known what they meant to me." He said to the fog, blinking at the moisture clinging to his lashes that tickled. He whispered the words, as if he were saying it for the first time and not the millionth, "I wish I could have saved them."

The fog gently crept over the railing and he took a deep breath of the ocean air, glad to feel the vapor brush across his cheeks, centering him on the present. The sound of the water reached him pulling him out of the past and when he looked down he could faintly see it through the swirling mist. What little he could see was murky, but as blue as he thought it would be, which made him smile just a bit; Bilbo supposed that was something he'd gotten right. He imagined he could see the Company reflected back at him on the gently lapping waves; he laughed as he saw Fili and Kili groaning as they fell out of the barrels. Fili vowing to never eat another apple as long as he lived.

Eyes falling shut, Bilbo held tight to the memory before letting it slide back into the ether. He didn't see the way the fog curled gently around him like a fond caress as it encroached on the vessel, or how the boat faded from sight in the thickening white. A yawn split his lips open.

"Curse you old age," the hobbit hummed, hand coming up to catch the exhalation, "if you can't have me dead, you'll take the next best thing."

He felt his eyelids grow heavy which only made him grumpy but when another yawn caught him, he leaned against the railing head settling on his folded hands to rest his suddenly weary head. He sighed.

"Hope Frodo comes up soon" he mumbled as he drifted off, "gonna, get..such a crick in my neck..."

..o0O0o..

Humming appreciatively, Bilbo rolled over in the soft cocoon of blankets he was wrapped in.

"Thank Yavanna for Frodo" he mumbled, hugging his pillow tight to his cheek, "I don't know wha," abruptly his eyes snapped open and he stopped talking. His lungs held in his breath, he could see the barest hint of light through the blanket, a wayward auburn curl flopped into view. Air exploded past his lips and he shot up, blanket flying and his nephew's name very nearly shouted.

"Frodo!" His hands slapped over his mouth, eyes so wide the dark blue of his iris were swimming in white. His sight registered the warm honey brown wood of the walls and furniture covered with books and possessions. More hair fell into his eyes and he could practically feel the blood draining from his face as he stared fixedly at the curls blocking his view. His hair hadn't been that color in _decades_. He let go of his mouth slowly, trepidation making his hands shake. Screwing up his rapidly waning courage he tried to say something.

"Wha," hands slapped back over his mouth. Nope. He wasn't imagining it. His voice hadn't been so light since,

"Bilbo, little warrior," a warm female voice called through the door, definitely **not** Lady Galadriel's, "time to get up. Breakfast is on the table!"

Not since he was a child.


End file.
